Buffy sat at the bar in the Bronze, the tequila shots in front of her mocking her self-imposed loneliness. Sighing deeply, she picked one up and tossed it back, relishing in the burning sensation it left on its way down. She reveled in her own punishment; she came every night after her shift at the DMP and Dawn duty. Finishing off the two remaining shots, she signaled the bartender for more.

When he sat them in front of her, she almost smiled at the memory of Willow asking if Buffy’s constant morning sickness was a product of pregnancy. Ha! she thought. As ruined as I am for warm men, the chances of pregnancy are slim to nil. And since she’d broken up with Spike, she was more than celibate. In fact, she was almost an automaton: the perfect copy of the Slayer the Council wanted her to be. She worked, she cared for Dawn, and she slayed. Period. And it was killing her from the inside out.

She swallowed another shot and wondered briefly if this was how Faith felt when she started down toward ‘the dark side of the Force’. She looked out onto the dance floor, watching the couples sway to the slow song, savoring the bitter taste in her mouth that didn’t come only from the cheap liquor. Her thoughts flitted to Angel then quickly to Spike again and she belted back another shot. She’d recently found that getting drunk was the most effective way to keep her mind off Spike and more specifically, sex with Spike.

So far, she’d held out longer than the last time she’d left Spike. After her declaration in the abandoned building, she’d limped home (after an obligatory fight with Spike), wishing she could have simply stayed and been happy. However, not long after, she was having sex with him again, each time more emotional and closer to making love rather than fucking. She’d finally realized she had to put a stop to it about two weeks ago.

She knew he thought it had to do with those ridiculous eggs, but it didn’t. She’d long since realized he’d probably been tricked into holding them as he claimed. The reason she had to leave him was because she knew happy Buffy meant death and destruction for everyone around her. And he was dangerously close to releasing happy Buffy. That she was certain of.

And she’d been miserable ever since. Her personality had become so cold and dead that Dawn accused of her of being a worse parent than the bot several times. So she smiled, and put on her cheerful mask, hiding that she was rotting from the inside out. Obviously, everyone else was far more concerned with their problems than with the girl who’d been so important they’d chosen to resurrect her.

She slammed the shot glass down this time, surprised when her hand blossomed red with blood. She looked at the blood spurting out of her hand incredulously, as if it weren’t real. The broken glass was still clutched in her fingers, cutting the already shredded fingers more and more deeply.

“Miss, are you okay? Let me get the first aid kit. Maybe you’d better have some coffee and sober up a bit…” The bartender came barreling down to her, grasping her hand in a cold, wet towel.

She felt alcohol on the towel and grimaced as it burned through her wounds. He cleaned up the glass as she stared at the blood on the bar, fascinated with how red it was. Her hand burned and ached, but she paid no mind. She wondered if this had been what the blood looked like when she fell from the tower. Had there been blood? Not just Dawn’s but mine?

Suddenly, she was tired. Just tired. Tired of doing everything for everyone, even herself, and tired of being the only person in the house who didn’t wonder why she wasn’t happy to be alive. She was tired of doing the right thing at the expense of her own happiness, and tired of being responsible for the fate of the world. She looked at the shards of glass left on the bar; the wheels in her mind turning frantically.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder as she picked up a particularly large shard and went to place it in her pocket. Without even looking up, she knew who it was and what they wanted. “Spike…go away.”

His voice was tight and hard as he replied. “Not a bloody chance, Slayer. I saw the whole thing, start to finish, which is now. I’ve been watching you try to destroy yourself for two weeks, and I’m sick of it. Now give me goddamned piece of glass.”

Rage flooded through her veins at his righteous tone, and she swiveled to face him. “What do you know? You have no idea what it’s like for me!”

When he started to open his mouth, she held her hand out. “No. You know what it’s like to claw your way out of a grave, sure. And you might even realize what it’s like to lose someone you love. But you can never know what it’s like the bear the weight of the world on your shoulders with every move you make. You have no responsibility, Spike. The only person you have to answer to is yourself.”

His eyes hardened. “At one time, maybe that was true. But it wasn’t true when I had to answer to your precious Peaches and his bitch or they’d torture Dru, or when your lark with him set the prick free. And it wasn’t true after I fell in love with you! You know why? Because every move I made, even before we were sleeping together, was judged as a prelude to doing something wrong! No matter how much I change, or what I give you, it just isn’t enough for the saintly Buffy,” he sneered.

“You’re a monster, Spike. You always have; you always will be. Nothing can change that,” she replied, getting up and pushing past him.

He grabbed her wrist and hauled her back to him. “Wrong. You changed it, Buffy. Not only do you save the world for everyone you love, but you also save it for monsters like me. Whether you think it makes a difference or not doesn’t matter. What matters here is you, luv. Don’t end your life because you can’t take living. A warrior like yourself deserves to die in the field of battle, not in a pit of self-pity.”

Her head drooped and she stared at the floor. When she lifted it again, her eyes were bright with tears. “Then what do I do, Spike? I can’t just go back to being the Buffy everyone wants me to be because that Buffy was a child. She had a mother, and friends who’d do anything for her…people who loved her for who she was. She had no real world responsibilities, like a nasty job, house payments and a sister she had to raise all while saving the world on alternate Tuesdays. I’m not her anymore, and they don’t love me for who I am now. I don’t even love who I am now.”

Spike ground his jaw, trying to decide what he should do. He’d sworn when she left he wouldn’t let her come running to him in secret anymore. But this wasn’t just her coming to him for help; this was her crying out for help before it was too late. After watching her movements for the past two weeks from afar, he’d spent enough time letting her friends handle it, he decided. Yet again, I’m the only one who will admit that there is something seriously wrong with the Slayer, and it’s not just one some cellular level, he thought.

Having decided, he took her arm, nodding at the bartender to let him know she was okay, and lead her to one of the couches in the corner. He waited until she had finished curling up in ball at one end before losing the debate with himself over where to sit. He plopped down next to her and was shocked when she wound her body around his, burying her face in his shoulder as she cried. Unsure how to handle this without hurting her or himself, Spike simply put an arm around her and rubbed her back gently.

He held her tightly against him, trying not to let her tears affect the decision he’d made. I’ll keep her from killing herself, but that’s it. I’m not falling for this again. I’m not sure I can take it, he thought. As her sobs turned to pitiful whimpers, he stared at the ceiling, waiting for her calm down enough to hold conversation. As much as he enjoyed holding her like this, he knew it was only because he was the only person right now who could see how bad she was hurting. If anyone else were available, she’d be gone in a split second.

She raised her head slightly and looked at his tight features; suddenly realizing that it might actually be hurting him to be with her in this way. With that disturbing thought, her mind latched on to all the times in the past she’d turned to him to vent her emotions, pleasant or unpleasant, and how unconditionally he’d supported her. What did I give him for it? Nothing but pain, she thought. Maybe he’s not the monster. Maybe I am. The tears that had dried on her face were covered with fresh ones as she began to sob again, this time not for herself, but for everyone she’d hurt with her self-centered world view the past few months. Especially Spike. And he deserves it least of anyone. He never would have let them bring me back.

Spike’s eyes widened when she began crying again. What the bloody hell happened? I didn’t say anything. I didn’t do anything. Why is she crying like the world is ending again? he thought. When her tears just picked up speed rather than tapering off like before, he groaned. The only thing left to do was to distract her from whatever was making her so unhappy. Taking a deep breath, he tipped her chin up and placed a soft kiss on her lips. When he pulled his lips from hers, he smiled at her gently, taking his thumb and wiping a tear from her cheek.

Her face crumpled again, and Spike sighed. “Bloody hell, Slayer, what can I do that won’t make you bawl?”

A shudder rippled through her body and she sniffed, wiping her face on her sleeve. “I-I just f-feel so b-bad. I’ve been so h-horrible to e-everyone,” she stuttered.

“What?” he asked incredulously

“I-I was so m-mean to y-you, and you were s-so good to m-me no matter what I d-did,” she replied miserably.

He opened his mouth to reassure her, but found he was too shocked to do so. The fact that she had even realized how her behavior had affected the people around her was amazing. But for her to acknowledge her self-centered outlook and apologize to him, of all people, was almost outrageous. So he simply listened to her as she tried to stave off her sniffles.

With a huge sniffle, she dried her eyes and attempted to compose herself. She was silent for a few moments, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. “I just realized that I’ve been so busy wallowing in myself and how no one gets my problems that I’ve been ignoring the one person who does,” she said slowly, looking him straight in the eyes.

He started to answer again, but she cut him off. “Not only that, but I was ignoring all my friends’ problems in the same way they were ignoring mine. There’s so much that I was too self-absorbed to see,” she trailed off wistfully.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

“Like Dawn is starving for attention and robbing Anya blind. Like Willow’s drowning in her addiction to the point where she’s barely able to function at school. Like Xander is completely unprepared to get married, despite his current plans. Like Giles ran away because he couldn’t deal with my being alive anymore than he could my death. Like Angel doesn’t really love me anymore. And worst of all, I’ve been breaking both of our hearts over and over for months.”

“You’ve seen a lot for someone who claims to have not been paying attention,” he remarked casually.

 “It’s all things I’ve come to see in the past two weeks. Little by little, things have soaked in, which is amazing considering how not sober I’ve been.”

He chuckled. “Had a drinking problem lately, eh, Slayer?”

“Hmm. Wonder where I might have gotten the idea that drinking solves your problems?” she teased. A small, half formed smile appeared on her face, and Spike’s heart lifted.

Haven’t a clue what you’re referring to,” he replied cavalierly.

“Of course not! Not the big bad William the Bloody! He’d never stoop so low as to get drunk and pathetic when he gets upset,” she snorted.

His eyes lit up when he saw that last shred of despair flee her eyes. He’d been worried that she was breaking down again or worse, bent on self-destruction. He knew from experience that it was hard to stop someone once they headed down that path. But the Buffy who teased him and called him pathetic was suddenly back, and he could handle this Buffy. He hadn’t quite known what to do with weepy suicidal Buffy.

“So what are you going to go about this new found knowledge?” he asked, smirking slightly.

“I’m not sure. Well, besides spending time with a few people and explaining what’s been going on with me. And telling them what I’ve seen going on with them,” she said, her face scrunching up at the thought. “I think it’s going to be kinda hard with some of them. Xander and Angel won’t want to hear what I’ve thought or felt or done lately.”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Done lately?”

“Oh no, I didn’t mean… well, maybe I did. Maybe I’d get a fresh start if I just get it all off my chest,” she mused.

Spike’s throat went dry as he pictured Angel, the whelp and the Watcher chasing him down with torches and stakes ala Bram Stoker. “Uh, Slayer, you sure about that? Cause I don’t fancy a team of pissed off Scoobies breaking my door down to stake me in my sleep,” he said nervously.

She giggled and laid a hand on his. “Somehow, I don’t think that will happen. I plan on being very implicit about who started it. And who ended it,” she said quietly, looking at the floor.

He cleared his throat and tried hard not to sound like a pansy as he spoke. “Slayer, you know I love you. But if you feel like you can’t be with me, I’m not one to beg. At least, not this time around.”

She looked up, taking in the defeated posture and his raspy voice. Her sharp eyes caught the glint of moisture in his eyes, and she sighed internally. Would it really be any harder to tell them they were still dating then to simply say they’d been screwing like rabbits? she thought. They’ll be pissed either way, and at least if I were still seeing Spike, I’d be happier. A lot happier. She watched him fidget in his chair for another moment, and then had an idea.

“Spike?” she said softly.

The tone of her voice surprised him, and he looked at her questioningly. “Yes?”

“Wanna play pool with me?”

He looked at her if as if she'd just asked to him to run around naked. "What?"

"I said… do you want to play pool with me?" she asked, pantomiming the words as she said them.

"Uh, well sure Slayer, but aren't you still a lil…tipsy?" He caught himself before he said anything stupid like weepy or sad.

She smiled demurely and his heart melted. "Nope. I was thinking maybe a little wager might be involved. You know, to spice things up. It's time I quit moping around."

He nodded, rising from the couch and offered her his hand. "Whatever you wish, Buffy. As someone I know would say, I'm all for the fun having."

She swatted his arm and shot him a dirty look, but kept holding his hand as they walked to the pool tables. He grabbed them a coupla pool cues, and gestured to the waiter. She shook her head when he ordered a bottle of tequila, but he ignored her.

"I'm not drinking anymore, Spike," she groaned.

"You never Slayer, it might be fun…. Sides, didn't you say something about a wager?"

She grinned from ear to ear, and he raised his eyebrow curiously. "If I win, you have to tell Angel about us," she began.

"No way. Not a chance in the bloody-"

"If you win, I tell everyone about us, including that we're still a couple."

His jaw dropped, and he stared at her for a moment, completely unable to form sentences. "But you- we… I thought…"

She put her hand on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. Laying a soft kiss on his lips, she asked, "Are you in or out?"

Swallowing hard, he nodded, gathering up all the balls so he could rack them. "You gonna break?" he croaked, heading over to pour himself a hefty glass of tequila to calm himself. A couple? Us? How the bloody hell am I going to concentrate on this fucking game if that's hanging over my head? He snorted at his thought derisively, and flexed his fingers around the poll cue. He could do this. He could win and claim the Slayer as his.

"Spike?" she said, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "You can break. Yo. You get break."

He shook his head, and collected himself enough to smirk at her knowingly. "You sure that's a good idea, Slayer? I've been playing pool since before your mum was born."

She rolled her eyes, and grabbed the other glass, pouring the golden liquid in carefully. "I think I will need this after all."

"Gathering your courage?" he asked, leaning over to line up his break.

She snorted, and gave him a sultry look. "I think we know who has the stones here, Spike."

He watched the balls fly across the table, the cue spinning in place as two solids slid into pockets. Looking up, he gave her a filthy look, and said, "Looks like someone let their ass overload their mouth, pet. But if you really want stones, I got a pair you can…"

She shoved him aside and he laughed. "Stupid vampire," she muttered, taking another drink and watching him line up a shot in front of her. An idea came to her as she watched him bend over the table, and she reached over, letting her hand trail down his inner thigh just he hit the cue ball. His shot went haywire, knocking one of her striped balls in and coming dangerously close to taking the eight ball with it.

He turned to her, a murderous look in his eyes. "That's cheating, Slayer."

"And that's the second time you've accused me of that in so many weeks," she said, shrugging. "Didn't work very well last time, either." She sashayed down to the other end of the table, trying to figure out why she had t provoke him. She wanted him to win, of course, but something inside her wouldn't let him win easily. She had to make him work

for it. Unable to analyze it any further than that, she examined the table, trying to find a shot that was workable. She almost snickered when she realized it was exactly opposite the stool where Spike was perched. From the vantage point, he'd be too distracted by looking down her shirt to keep from making the shot. She walked over to it; giving him doe eyes as she lined the shot up, then leaned over to shoot.

Spike knew exactly what she was doing, and though it tickled him to see the Slayer acting so silly, he couldn’t let her one up him. He waited until she leaned over to shoot, and then held his stick up, exclaiming, “Buffy, I think my stick is bent.”

She missed the cue ball completely, her stick almost digging into the felt. She looked up to see him grinning madly, and stomped her foot. “That was unfair, Spike!”

He shrugged. “Evil. What can I say?”

The twinkle in his eye told her that he knew what she’d been thinking, and she growled in aggravation. “You suck, Spike.”

“Not nearly as well as you, luv,” he replied, winking. He rounded the table to line his next shot, noting that he’d knock two of his balls off if he made it. He looked over at Buffy who was busy muttering into her glass. He sank the shot easily, and she sighed, her lower lip sticking out.

Suddenly, her head quirked to the side and she looked at him. “Just who the hell have you been sucking?” she demanded.

A great rumbling laugh escaped his lips and she continued to glare at him. “No one, Buffy. I was just being sarcastic, pet.”

He went back to lining up his next shot when she sidled up to him, wrapping her body around his from behind. She leaned her head up and licked his ear, feeling him shudder, and whispered, “You know that used to keep me awake at night… thinking about you, what you were doing, if you were thinking of me…what you might be doing if you were thinking of me…”

A groan slid of out his mouth and he leaned his hands on the table, trying to break the spell she was weaving. Think of the Poof…think of Harris naked… think of Glory torturing you… anything but what she’s doing, he thought.

Buffy watched his facial features tighten as she continued, “It made even more restless. Horny, even. You don’t know how many times I threw on sweats and made it to the front door before turning back. How many times I almost came running to you in the middle of the night to jump your sexy…undead…bones.” She pressed up against him, her hands sliding into the waistband of his jeans for a second then returning to strum his abs.

“Buffy… you can’t… this isn’t fair,” he ground out.

“I know,” she said, stepping away from him with a gleeful grin. She skipped back to the table, pouring herself another glass of tequila as she watched him fail to make his shot.

Spike bit his lower lip, trying to keep his temper under control. He had to get it together. There was no way in hell he’d live down missing his chance to have Buffy just cause his dick had a mind of its own. He looked over at Buffy, who was watching him adjust himself with glazed eyes. It occurred to him that he might not be the only one who was affected by her little games. “Your turn, Buff,” he said, raking her body with a hungry gaze.

She shivered at the heat in his eyes, and inwardly admonished herself to remain firm. Firm, Buffy. You know like his…Her eyes strayed to the bulge in his pants and she bit her lip to keep from sighing.  She lined up her shot, blocking out anything but the balls, and sunk one of hers, giving him a triumphant look. The next shot she took landed in another ball, and his smirk quickly turned into a glare. She took pity on him, knowing that she didn’t really want to win, and missed her next shot, stomping her foot for show.

“Temper, temper, Slayer. Is it my fault that you’re just not as good as me?” he asked, lining up an impossible shot and making it cleanly.

“Whatever,” she replied, taking another gulp of the tequila.

He made the next two shots with ease, and then went to line up a shot that would sink his last two balls. She looked at the balls left on the table, and realized he was awfully close to winning. “So how bent is it?” she called.

He looked up, completely missing the shot, and sputtered, “What?”

“Your pool cue. How bent is it?” she questioned, her amusement showing as she got up to take her turn.

“Only slightly. But I think it does it’s job pretty damn well all the same,” he replied flippantly.

She flashed back for a moment, smiling to herself, and then nodded. “Seems like it most of the time.”

“Most of the time? Have you lost your mind, woman? I’m obviously the best lover you’ve ever had! Look at the competition!”

“Riley was a very capable lover, I’ll have you know,” Buffy retorted, setting her stick down to confront him.

“Yeah. Is that why you had to go running to the bathroom with a little silver vibrator every night for months… Oh, shit,” he cursed softly as he realized what he’d just admitted.

“Spike! You-you pervert! You spied on us…me…when I… you jackass!” she said stomping on his foot as hard as she could.

He groped for a reason for his voyeurism that would keep him alive, but finding none, he decided to lie. “I was only guessing, Slayer. Looks like I hit the mark pretty well,” he covered quickly.

Buffy snorted. “Yeah cause every girl has a silver vibrator. They don’t make any other colors, right?” She shook her head and gave him a snide look. “Pinocchio’s nose grows when he lies, does yours?”

“No, but…”

“Save it, Spike. I know your cock grows when you do just about anything,” she said, grinning at him. “Let’s finish this game sometime this century.” He pouted adorably at her, and she laughed. She picked up her stick and shot, her ball bouncing from bumper to bumper and avoiding anything resembling a pocket.

“Distracted, Slayer? Does my peeping at your bathroom sport turn you on?” he asked, smirking.

“Ew. No. It just creeps me out that you saw…well, I’m not saying anything until I know what you saw. I plead the fifteenth.”

“It’s the fifth, luv, and I don’t think it covers masterbation,” he replied as he rapidly sank his last two balls.

Buffy watched him line up a bank shot for the eight ball and comtemplated making him miss. Technically, if he missed, she’d win the game, but then she’d lose him. So she kept quiet, not saying a word as he made his shot, banking off the opposite bumper and knocking the eight ball in the side pocket.

He looked at the table incredulously. “I won.” Her eyes started to tear up for a second and she sniffled, causing him to snap out of his trance. He rushed over and took her hands in his. “You don’t have to go through with this, Buffy.”

She smiled through the tears that had run down her face, and leaned her forehead against his, looking him in the eyes. “Yes, I do. I want to, Spike. I want you back in my life, in my bed. That is, if you want to come back.”

“I’ll come back on one condition,” he said, giving her a devilish look.

“What’s that?”

“Can we let Harris find out first? Catch us in a compromising position or something?”

“Too late,” Buffy whispered, a smile spreading across her face.

“Huh?”

“He’s been sitting at the bar watching us since we started playing pool. I think he’s gotten the idea by now.”

Spike looked up and noted the whelp at the bar, nursing a drink and trying to look inconspicuous. He caught Xander’s eye, and gave him a little wave, then deliberately slid his hands down onto Buffy’s ass. He watched as Xander downed his drink in one gulp and ordered another, snickering. “That was the best present you ever could have given me, luv. Bloody priceless.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, smiling up at him. “Wanna go home?”

“You mean my crypt? It’s a little-“

“No, I mean home. We have a nice comfy bed awaiting us. And I mean to use it. Let’s go, Fangboy.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice, Slayer,” he said, taking her hand and heading out into the night.